This weekend has been a blur of excess, waking up in foreign beds, champagne straight from the bottle, dancing till my feet hurt, vinyl records, ex-boyfriends, hangovers, sleep deprivation, New York boys, random run-ins, pathetic heartache from 3000 miles away despite not a single word exchanged, and dreams that I don't want to decipher. So, it has been a good weekend, although I don't know if I want to repeat it. Strike that, this Saturday will probably be a round two, and hopefully sans the bad boy karma. Now how do I pick up good boy karma? One handbook, please.
It was a mutual decision between the friends who partook in the previously mentioned activities that you really need to spend your 20s getting shitfaced so you can spend your 30s sobering up while waiting in your 40s for a liver transplant. Thus, I say HOORAY to my short term brilliant/long term piss-poor decisions.
And oddly, at the end of the day, no matter how tired, how hungover, how [insert delicate emotion here], a helping of McDonald french fries is a good cure. Amazing.
See ya later, 2008!
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